Dreams of the Sea
by racheltastic
Summary: When Christine is whisked away to the opera house after her father's death, she has no idea that the events from so long ago would come back to change her life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: hi sup. this is my first fanfic, so don't go hating, alright. reviews are highly appreciated. thanks for taking the time to read it! (:**

* * *

><p>Fear choked Christine as she struggled for air, her lungs screeching, and her arms and legs flailing underwater. She was drowning. She was going to die. For a moment, Christine honestly considered allowing herself to succumb – if this was how it was going to end, then so be it.<p>

Things never seemed to go as planned when it came to Miss Christine Daaé though, and she shouldn't have been surprised when a hand broke the surface of the water and gently tugged her six year old body from the water. Her eyes opened slowly, and she began to hack, gasping for oxygen. Her savior gently lifted her up so she was able to remove the salty water from her lungs.

"Are you alright?"

Christine shrieked, turning to look at the boy who hovered over her, "Oh, you saved me, Raoul!" She sat up and threw her skinny arms around his neck, practically dragging him to the ground. He laughed and gently peeled himself from her arms, shaking his head.

"I, uh, didn't save you," He looked slightly embarrassed, "When I got here, there was another boy standing over you. He ran away when I came over, though."

This fact didn't bother her as much as it should have; she was just thankful to be alive. Christine let out another string of coughs, trying to expel the last of the water. "So are you alright, Christine? You fell a long way. I was running to the beach so I could try to help you, but I couldn't find you. What if you had died?"

For a moment, the little girl considered what would have really happened had she died. After a moment of such unpleasant thoughts, she broke into a smile, "But I didn't."

Raoul laughed, thankfulness and joy written across his face, "I'm going to go get your father, alright?"

She realized, after Raoul had scurried away of course, that warning her father probably wasn't going to be the best idea. He was very worrisome about her well-being and the realization that she might have drown probably wasn't going to go down well.

There was a jumble of commotion, and Christine turned to see her father running down the steps of their beach house, "Christine!" The man fell to his knees and grabbed her into his arms, "Oh my Christine, I'm so sorry that I didn't notice earlier. I was so busy with my music, and oh Christine," He fell silent, clinging to his daughter like a life vest, "Are you alright?" He smoothed his hand over her dark, limp, wet hair anxiously.

"Yes, Daddy, I'm fine, just tired. Can you take me home?" She slumped against her father as he picked her up, cuddled into his arms.

"Goodbye, Christine." Raoul stood alone at the spot she had just left, watching as Christine left him standing there. In his hands was her bright red scarf that he had recovered after running into the water to look for her.

* * *

><p>"Daddy, can you tell me a story?" Christine called from her bed, her dark brown eyes fixed on him as he played his violin.<p>

He stopped, turning, and gently slid his violin into his case, "Only one, and then you have to sleep, alright my angel?"

"Yes, Daddy." The little girl giggled and cuddled down further under the covers, her eyes following him as he came to her bedside. He sat on a rocking chair next to the bed, tapping his chin slightly as he debated what story to tell her.

"What would you like to hear, my angel?"

"A fairytale!" Christine loved stories of goblins and monsters and heroic knights that swept the princess off her feet and saved the day.

The man settled down closer to get, rocking himself slowly on the chair, his eyes drifting shut as he searched for a story. "Once upon a time," he began, eyes still closed, "There was a beautiful princess, and her name was Chrissy. She had long, beautiful, curly brown hair and huge, innocent eyes that captured the hearts of everyone who looked into them. But there was one bad thing about Chrissy – she was very adventurous! Of course, that was okay sometimes, but it got her into a lot of trouble, too."

He went on for over an hour, weaving a tale of a beautiful princess and how she was pushed into the ocean by a group of trolls who were jealous of her beauty, and a young prince jumped into the water and saved her. By the end of it, Christine's eyelids were drooping dangerously low, though she kept mumbling and asking for another one. Her father chuckled softly and blew out the candle that sat next to her, engulfing them in darkness, "Sleep now, Angel."

Christine slept and dreamed of the ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: haha, it was really nerve racking putting this up, but i'm so excited that people actually like it! seriously, i was positive that everyone was going to think it was dumb. but ugh, thank you all so much! but without further wait, here is chapter two!**

* * *

><p>Christine was seven when her father died. It had been a rather slow, somewhat prolonged death – he lay on his death bed for weeks before the fateful day actually occurred.<p>

"Daddy?" Christine gently eased herself into her father's bed, curled up carefully next to him. The hospice let out an audible tsk, a dark frown on her face, but the dying man simply shooed her with a wave of his hand, "Daddy, are you really going to die?"

Of course, the nine year old knew the answer to this question; she had been watching her father slowly die for weeks – three and a half, to be exact. Her father simply smiled at her, brushing away one of her brown locks, "Yes, Christine, I am going to die."

Her face crumpled momentarily, but she quickly tried to compose herself. Her father was not a foolish man, though, and quickly grabbed her chin and angled her face up to look at him, "Oh, do not cry, Christine! I'll be with you, even once I die. Simply light a candle to remember me; when you hear a violin or a lovely fairytale, think of me. When you sing and dance, think of me. You'll always be my Angel."

"But Daddy, what am I going to do without you?" Her strong composure had fallen again, and crocodile tears were rolling down her flushed cheeks, "Where am I going to go?"

Ever since her mother had died, her father had been her best friend and her everything. He had been with her through everything, and he had been her rock. No matter what she'd gone through, her father was always there to help her, to comfort her, to make everything easier. And now he was going to die. He was going to leave her, and she would never see him again. At that moment, she realized the full capacity of what was going on. How _would _she manage without him?

Christine could feel her father's body shake with his coughing, and he quickly reached for a handkerchief, holding it to his mouth. He tried to hide the blood from her, but she could see the thick red substance left behind. This, of course, simply caused another fresh batch of tears to begin falling down her cheeks, a sob racking her body. Her father gently stroked her back, trying to calm and comfort her as she released her grief and pain, "Christine, did you really thing that I would simply leave you with nothing? You are going to go to the opera house to train as a ballerina – you will be happy there. Much better than traveling with me."

Suddenly, his gaze turned intense as he looked at her, his expression solemn, despite his sunken eyes and paled skin, "Do not fret; when I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you."

He soon surrendered to another fit of coughs, reaching for a small bell that sat on the table next to him. He rang it quickly, and the hospice quickly entered the room, "Please leave us for now, Christine. I will call you back as soon as he is alright."

If it was possible, Christine suddenly felt impossibly smaller and much more vulnerable. Loneliness struck her hard as she scuttled from his room, pacing the hallway outside helplessly. The Angel of Music? For as long as she could remember, music had been the very basis of her life; between her father's violin and her own singing, it was what she had grown up with. Now it would be ripped away from her – Death was going to steal the last person she had.

"Little Lotte?"

Christine looked up suddenly from where she had crouched down, her large eyes rimmed with redness, "Raoul." She moved forward and clung to him helplessly, beginning to sob all over again. The boy returned the hug, squeezing her comfortingly, "It's okay, Little Lotte. Please don't cry." Of course, the ridiculousness of such a statement wouldn't have made sense to such a young boy – nothing would ever be the same for Little Lotte.

She pulled away, her eyes downcast and expression solemn, "Raoul, my father is going to die. I saw the blood on his handkerchief, and he even _told me_ he was going to die."

Raoul didn't completely understand why her father would say such a thing; did he want to break her heart? It didn't make sense to him, and he had no idea how to make her feel better about this, "But... Where are you –" A loud clamber from inside her father's room interrupted them, and the door opened to reveal the hospice, her face had fallen, and pity was written across her face as she looked at Christine.

"Daddy? Daddy?" Christine rushed inside, a loud heart wrenching wail escaping the small girl as she shook her father's lifeless body, "Oh, Daddy! Please, wake up, Daddy!" She knew very well that her father was not asleep, but she couldn't help but hope. Strong, firm hands carried her away as they pulled a sheet over his face.

And just like that, she was alone.

* * *

><p>Giggling, Christine ran down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder every few steps to make sure Meg Giry was out of sight. The little blonde girl was so short, though, that it was impossible to see her anyway past all the bodies.<p>

"Watch it!" Someone snarled as she ran into them, and she hastily apologized before taking off again, ducking into the kitchen. The two had been running throughout the opera house for hours, trying to rid themselves of their boredom; they were on winter break, so ballet lessons had been put on hold for a whole _week, _and it had been surprisingly boring. No operas were running, so this was the best they could do was try hard to amuse themselves.

A small blonde head poked in through the kitchen door, "Oh Christine, I know you're in here!" she called in a sing-song voice, prancing through the kitchen looking for her. Christine stifled a giggle, covering her mouth with one hand as she crawled in the opposite direction that Meg was coming.

Or so she thought.

"Got you!" Meg hopped in front of Christine, poking her in the middle of the forehead before taking off again, giggling madly as she ran from the kitchen. For a moment, the other girl just sat there, overcome with laughter and attempting to catch her breath before she took off again.

"What are you children doing?" Christine gasped, quickly climbing to her feet as Madame Giry stood in front of her, a scowl on her face, "Why are you running around? Can't you two find something more productive to do? Find Meg and send her to me." Her voice was harsh and stern – impatient. After a moment of hesitation from Christine, she quickly snapped, "Now!"

She quickly exited the kitchen, her dark eyes large as she peered around, hoping to locate the other girl quickly. Luckily, the opera house was rather empty due to the holidays, as most were with their families at such a time. Christine ran down towards the chapel that was located at the very back of the building, knowing it was one of Meg's favorite hiding places, "Meg? Meg, are you in here? Your mother wants you, a-and she didn't sound too happy. I think it would be a good idea if we stopped – I don't want to get into trouble again." The two seemed to get into more trouble than they were worth. Last week, they'd accidentally trampled over a very fragile papier-mâché mask that was being made for one of the upcoming operas. One could imagine the enthusiasm they were approached with.

Out of the corner of her eyes, there was a flash of movement and, figuring it was Meg, she quickly followed after it into the small room that held a beautiful stained glass mirror, along with candles that were lit for those that had passed, "Meg, is that you? Please come out – your mother seemed rather... angry, and I _really _don't like getting yelled at. You know she's not the friendliest with her yelling."

After a moment, the small blonde head emerged, and she didn't look so excited, "Are you being serious or are you just trying to find me?"

Christine smiled sadly at her best friend, "Serious. I think you should go find her before _she _comes after you herself."

The other girl sighed, her shoulders drooping, "She's probably going to make me help clean out the stables again. Don't they _pay _people for that? I don't know why I have to do it. It's not _fair_. She thinks that making me do work is the only thing that will keep me out of trouble. We only ruined something once, and we even helped remake it! My hands were sticky, and I even got some in my hair." She paused to look her her shoulder at Christine, who had stopped in front of the candle holders, "Are you coming?"

"No, not this time. I'll meet you later, okay? I can help you clean out the stables – I just need to do something real quick." Christine smiled faintly at her best friend. When she first moved to the Opera Populaire, most had been somewhat weary around her – they knew who she was, and more importantly, they knew who her father was. Had been. Meg was the only one that was perfectly okay with being around her, and the two had quickly become best friends and were now inseparable.

She gently eased herself down, sitting on her knees, and lit the candle that stood next to her father's name and picture. "_Simply light a candle to remember me..._" Her father's words echoed in her mind as she sat there, watching the small flame dance. When would this Angel of Music come for her? Would he? But either way, this time was the most comforting, when she could sit like this, and feel her father so close. Every day she stopped by to visit his small memorial, the one time she could truly escape the hustle and bustle of most days. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she breathed in the quiet air around her, whispering quietly, "I miss you, Daddy."

_Christine..._

The girl's eyes were open in a flash, her brow furrowing in confusion, "Hello?" Her voice had reduced to a small squeak.

_Christine..._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: holy moly, i am _so_** **sorry that this took so long, and i thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews and the fact that you're reading it at all! i'm so sorry this took so long, guys. promise it will never happen again. 3**

Although Christine had never been a fearful child, there were some things that did scare her. Ghost stories, for one, nightmares, her loved ones dying, and clowns made her want to crawl under her blankets and never come back. Hearing voices in a silent room also scared her.

"Hello?" Christine slowly stood to her feet, her small body quivering with fear, "Is... is somebody there? Please... I don't like getting scared."

_Christine... Christine..._

Fear pulled at the girl, and she began to backpedal towards the door, hoping that this was all just some silly trick that the other ballerinas were trying to play; they had always enjoyed doing these kinds of things. Christine, of course, constantly seemed to be their victim of choice, if not simply because she was "new". New should have worn off, seeing as she was now ten and had been at the opera house for years, but that didn't seem to bother them.

She turned around and ran to the door, grabbing the handle to jerk it open. Locked. Panic added to the fear, and she began to hyperventilate, spinning around to search for an extra door, something – anything – that would get her out. Words slid from her mouth, incoherent words that made no sense, but kept away the silence and the voice.

_Christine!_

Terror overwhelmed Christine, and she fell to her bottom, covering her ears with her hands, and closing her eyes tightly in hopes that it would just stop. It had to stop. "Go away!" she shrieked, still hiding under her hands.

"Why are you so afraid, Christine?"

The voice penetrated through her hands, and she slowly dropped her hands, peering up, her body still shaking, "Don't hurt me."

A chuckle resonated through the empty room, echoing quietly, "I would never hurt you, my dear Christine. Do you not know the voice of your own angel?"

Angel? For a moment, words escaped Christine, and she simply sat there, still huddled over and petrified beyond belief. Angel? What was he talking about?

"Did your father not speak of an Angel of Music that would protect you?"

This was her Angel? She cautiously dropped her hands, peering up from under her eyelashes, but she was unable to see anyone in the room. Christine shifted her weight and turned around, trying to identify where the voice was coming from. The room was still empty? She carefully climbed to her feet and smoothed her hands down the dark green dress she was wearing, brow creased, "Where... are you?"

"But my dear, that doesn't matter. I'm here with you."

That didn't make a lot of sense to poor little Christine, because it _did _matter to her where he was, but then again, if he was an angel, he wouldn't be flesh and blood, would he? She hesitated before speaking, still afraid, "Are... You're my angel?"

A deep laugh resonated through the room, though it was more like a dark chuckle, "Do you remember the words your father spoke to you before he passed, Christine? Do you remember? Tell me."

Christine tried to keep the tremble from her voice as she spoke, "H-he said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you', and that was all. That's what he said."

"And that is who I am."

Then his presence was gone. The feeling that someone else was in the room completely faded, and Christine was suddenly alone. That seemed to always happen to her, especially at times when she didn't want to be by herself. She noticed she was crying when the saltiness reached her lips, and she quickly wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her dress; Christine _hated _crying. There were times appropriate for crying – like when family passed and when the ones you left love, but it wasn't okay to cry when you were afraid. That was not a good enough reason. She patted her eyes again, hoping they weren't too red, and she pushed at the door again, stifling a gasp when it pushed open as if it had never been locked. Angels had the power to lock doors? Christine figured such a question was silly; angels could do whatever they wanted!

The little girl scuttled from the cathedral and hurried towards the stables where she knew she would find Meg. She came to a quick halt, though, when she realized that Meg would probably find her crazy and silly and dismiss what she had to say. Besides, this was her angel, and he could be her secret, right? Christine continued to the stables, though she was determined not to let anyone know about the Angel of Music. Christine yelped at the horse that stuck its long face out towards her, stumbling into a pile of hay.

"Christine!" Meg offered her small hand out to help Christine up, "Are you alright? These horses are so silly, I know. Everything scares them." Dirt smudged her face, and her cheeks had reddened from the physical exertion, "As I guessed, Mother sent me here to clean stables and be _useful_. I feel dirty and gross, and these horses smell _so bad_." Her nose scrunched, and she made a distasteful face.

Christine nodded absently, grabbing Meg's hand gratefully to pull herself up, "Your mother just likes to keep you out of trouble."

She shrugged, pushing a large chunk of blonde hair from her face, "Come on, I'm hungry."

That night, Christine had a very strange dream. She was back at her house on the sea, before her father had died. It was the time when she had fallen into the ocean, and she'd been rescued by some stranger, and Raoul had dove underwater to retrieve the scarf her mother had knitted for her before she passed. In her dream, the stranger had been her Angel of Music, although his face had been blotted out by the sun. He sang to her, soft, haunting melodies that made her weep with sorrow. His voice was dark and haunting, but Christine couldn't even make out the words; all she could understand was the emotions attached to it. Her Angel's music was tragic and desperate, and he let out beautiful notes of pain and abuse and strength and weakness – Christine couldn't even begin to hold back the tears. Her heart twisted with the pain for her Angel of Music. She woke up to the sound of her own sobbing.

* * *

><p>For the next seven years, Christine's dreams were plagued with her Angel. In her dreams, he sang to her and spoke to her, and she always woke up with tears in her eyes and a wet pillow. Whenever she would go to the cathedral to light a candle for her father, the door would lock, and she could feel his heavy presence. He spoke to her, and he taught her how to sing. It seemed trivial at first – Christine was extremely shy of her Angel, and she was timid with her own voice. As the weeks and months progressed, however, the Angel was able to coax out her true voice. It was sweet, yet strong and brutally honest.<p>

"Angel?" Christine stood to her feet, flicking off leftover pebbles from her skirt, "Do you watch me dance?" The question was random, really, but she was curious as to whether her Angel watched her during performances at the opera house; was he really always there, or only when she was alone?

"Of course." The very sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine, and she smiled, "One day, Christine, you will be the prima donna. You will be on center stage singing the way I have taught you."

Raising her eyebrows, Christine shook her head, "Oh no, Angel, I don't think I will ever be good enough. Carlotta has been the leading lady for years."

"Do you doubt my teaching?" His voice was suddenly sharp, bordering on angry.

"O-of course not, Angel! I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I just don't know if I'll ever have the chance to... to prove myself." Her stomach churned with fear; he wouldn't leave her, would he? "Please don't leave me."

"I will never leave you."


	4. Chapter 4

It felt as if Christine had stopped living for only herself – she felt as though there was someone else to live for. It was had at first, really, to get used to singing for someone she had never seen. She didn't understand why her Angel kept himself hidden in the dark, but she knew better than to question him and anything he did. He was the teacher, and she was the pupil, and she would do everything he said. The few chances Christine had to sing in front of others usually ended disastrously, either with no one paying attention or stage fright getting the best of her, and she would hit a few nasty notes. Christine tried hard, though. The young girl – no so much a girl anymore, at seventeen – had poured her whole being into singing and the music that Angel had taught her. Every time she sang in front of people, however, she felt as though she was letting him down.

"I'm sorry!" Christine cried as she flung herself into the cathedral, falling to her face in horror, "Oh, Angel, I am so sorry! I have let you down again." She broke into a heavy fit of sobs, cowering beneath the presence of her Angel, hoping and praying that he did not blast her where she lie.

There was what seemed to be a soft hum, "Oh Christine, you will never let me down. Why do you suffer from fright while on stage? What do you fear?"

Christine pushed herself up so she was kneeling in front of a large stained glass angel, staring at the colors that created the beautiful wings. She hesitated for a moment, searching for the answer, "I... I fear people not liking my voice. I fear letting you down, a-and not succeeding in the ways you suspect." There was a long, heavy silence, and she feared once again that he had left her.

"Angel?"

"Christine, your fear is the only thing stopping you. Do you not trust my lessons? I have spent _years_ teaching you how to sing, and yet you doubt yourself. You will never let me down unless you do not _try_! Christine, you must try, and you must sing, and then you will succeed. Success follows skill, child."

"I'm sorry, Angel." She whispered, her eyes roaming up to the ceiling, "I promise that when I get another chance, I promise that I will do you well. I promise."

With a small chuckle, there was only one word that Christine heard before her Angel disappeared.

_Good._

Christine stumbled onto the stage, Meg giggling from behind, "Well don't let her _see us_."

"Christine Daaé!Meg Giry!" Madame Giry walked briskly towards them, her expression hard and eyes darkened with anger, "Where have you two – Meg, have you been _drinking_? You stink of rum."

Meg had been trying hard to contain her composure, but snorts and giggles had overcome her, and she burst into a fit of laughter. Christine stood rigid at her side, face twisted with horror. Meg had practically doubled over by now, tears streaming down her face and all attention turned towards them. Rehearsal had stopped completely, Monsieur Reyer raised an eyebrow at the two young girls, one arm raised halfway.

Carlotta, the current prima donna and leading lady for many seasons, sneered at the two, "Those foolish children. They have no talent – they deserve to be removed from the opera house. The only reason the drunk one is here is because of her _mother_." She growled again, flicking her deep red hair over her shoulder and giving the two another dark, dirty look.

Madame Giry whirled around and opened her mouth to reply, but she quickly fell silent, shaking her head, "Meg will be punished accordingly."

"And the orphan? _She _was here late."

"Christine Daaé is none of your business, Mademoiselle Guidicelli." Madame Giry replied cooly, her hand grasping Meg on the upper arm, "Come, Meg. I apologize for the behavior of my daughter." With that, Madame Giry disappeared into the opera house, arm clamped tightly around the still giggling Meg.

All eyes were on Christine as she quickly hurried to stand with the other dancers, and her legs shook nervously. This, of course, did nothing for her as she tried to avoid attention, her head ducked down. She tried to think of everything the Angel had told her – success will follow skill, and she was surely skilled. Many had complimented her for her wonderful dance skills, and they told her she was a natural – she should _always _dance. Little did they know that she had a lot more than just dancing skills, she was just afraid to show them.

"You're a weasel, Orphan," Carlotta's face was suddenly close, "You'll never amount up to much. You're worthless _and _a weasel." A terrible grin came to her lips, and she strutted off, her mother and handmaids following close behind, Carlotta endlessly barking orders at them about this and that.

Christine's cheeks had gone bright pink, and she was fighting back tears. Sure, Carlotta was a stuck up prima donna that really was not that great at singing anymore, but it hurt nonetheless. She wished she could run and tell Meg about this, or even her Angel. She quickly wiped away her tears, raising her chin to try and hide her emotion.

"Come on, dancers! Come along, let's go! We are to run through your part once more, with music. Yes, that means you, Daniella!" Monsieur Reyer clapped his hands, gesturing at the orchestra pit to prepare, "Has Madame Giry re – oh, yes, there she is! We are preparing for a final run through, Madame." The woman nodded slowly, her eyes locking with Christine's. The younger woman dropped her head, cheeks still burning with shame. Of course, she hadn't had anything to drink, but it was still embarrassing being best friends with the current laughing stock of the opera house. Meg had always been reckless, and she seemed to enjoy getting into as much trouble as she could.

"You, too, Daaé!" Christine quickly jumped to attention, falling in line with the other dancers as they moved smoothly through the routine – jumping, twisting, rolling – Christine faltered once after another girl tripped over her own feet, but was quickly able to pick herself up, her face twisted slightly with concentration.

There was a loud, long noise of disgust from the corner, and everyone stopped, turning to look. Carlotta stood in the corner, her face darkened with hate, "You train these girls to do _this_? They all look like trash! Trash!" Carlotta's heavy Italian accent made it nearly impossible to understand what she was saying, "You should not be rehearsing them during these times! I demand that you pay attention to the singers, not to... not to _this_!" Carlotta stomped her foot down, hands still resting on her hips, "I can't believe that you –"

"_Silence, you Italian whore!_"

Screams echoed through the stage room, and heads turned, searching for whomever the voice had come from. To Christine, it was unmistakable – her Angel was here. Dancers herded together, shrieking, searching the ceiling. Carlotta stood there white-faced, her eyes widened to an impossible size, and then after a moment, to pure and utter rage, "You fools have _some nerve_!" Her voice was high pitched, and she shrieked furiously, moving her finger along the line of people in the room, "How _dare_ you do this! How dare you have the nerve to speak to me that way! And you make it seem like some _ghost_ is doing it! Fine, if you want me silenced, fine! Goodbye! I am not coming back, and I will never be back! Piangi, come along!"

The woman stomped off the stage and out the exit, her chin held high, and Piangi running after her like a lost puppy. No one spoke as they ran out, simply staring after her, unsure of what to do. Now what? Carlotta, their leading lady, was gone, and having an understudy for her was practically unheard of.

Then the room erupted into noise.

"Silence! Silence!" Monsieur Reyer shouted, waving his arms above his head, "Silence! I need _silence_! Christine, please grab Monsieur Lefèvre immediately! Go now! Madame Giry, would you please..."

Christine's face was still white as a sheet as she stood there, barely having heard Reyer's voice. Never before had she heard his voice so clearly and so, so angry. Fear shot through her, but she quickly shook away her fear and headed towards the office of the Opera Populaire's owner. She continually glanced over her shoulder, convinced that she would look and there the Angel would be – she imagined him large, dressed in all black, and terrifying. She felt as though everything about him had been warped after hearing those four words escape him as he yelled at Carlotta. She no longer felt as if he were her precious Angel and teacher. He was loud and _scary_. Christine rapped on the large wooden door of the office, her large eyes darting whenever she heard a noise.

"What is it, girl?" The man that opened the door looked impatient, his face drawn into a dark frown, "Get it out, come on. I have business to attend to."

"I-I... There's b-been an incident, Monsieur. An incident with Carlotta. Monsieur Reyer asked me to get you. It's important." He mumbled out a curse that Christine had never heard before, glancing over his shoulder. Only then did the girl notice the small group of people huddled inside the office. An upper class family by the looks of them; they were dressed in fine clothing, and the woman had what looked like very expensive jewelry. Christine flushed slightly as the face of a young man appeared, leaning past his parents. Their eyes locked and, in that moment, Christine knew exactly who it was.

Raoul.

"Are you listening, girl? What happened?" He snapped in her face, drawing her attention from the people sitting in his office, "What happened?"

"U-uh the ghost. The Opera Ghost." She said the words quickly, "He yelled at Carlotta and – can Monsieur Reyer just tell you, Monsieur? Please? He told me to get you quickly, a-and I think he'll be angry if we don't get there soon." For seventeen, Christine was still quiet and terribly shy, very much on the awkward side.

Lefèvre nodded and turned back to the family inside, apologizing repeatedly, "I'm sorry, Viscount de Chagny, but you'll have to excuse my absence. I will be back in one moment?"

"No, let us come with you," the man who must have been Monsieur de Chagny stood to his feet, "We are, after all, possibly going to be your new patrons. Should we not be able to attend a rehersal?"

"O-of course, Monsieur. Please, follow me." He bowed his head and placed a hand on the small of Christine's back, "Please tell them that our new patrons are going to be attending and that they must be on their best behavior. _Hurry_."

Glancing once more over her shoulder at Raoul before hurrying back into the auditorium and straight to Reyer, who was looking more and more panicky, "Christine! What took you so long? Where is Lefèvre, girl?"

Winded, she took a deep breath and pointed from where she had come from, "He is coming, but he has the opera's new patrons with him, and he sent me ahead," she took another deep breath, her hands now resting tiredly on her hips, "to tell you. He said we must be on our best behavior."

The conductor's eyes widened, and he quickly drew everyone to attention, "Our new patrons are going to be attending our... resolution to our problem. Please, everyone, be on your best behavior." As an after thought, he quickly added, "If you shame us, you shall not be fed tonight."

This comment, of course, received a hushed silence. No one ever knew whether or not Reyer was serious about his threats; no one had ever dared to find out. His gaze hardened for a moment, "What are you all standing there silently for? Rehearse! Dancers, with Madame Giry. Vocalists, if you would please line up in front of the pit – yes, thank you. Buquet, what are you doing flirting with – get back to your post, you fool! Our new patrons are... _here_! Hello, Monsieur, Mademoiselle!"

"Viscount." The man corrected as Reyer took the hand of his wife and kissed her knuckles politely. He stepped back and bowed slightly, "My apologies."

Christine peered from where she stood with the other dances, going over their routine, looking for Raoul. Oh, what she would do for Meg to be with her! The foolish girl had to get into trouble today, didn't she? She would regret it as soon as she heard what happened! Madame Giry stomped her cane in front of Christine, jolting her back to attention, "Attention!" She snapped, "Don't make me regret bringing you here today, Daaé!"

Ever since Christine could remember, Madame Giry had treated her like a daughter. She had never been _sweet_, necessarily, but Christine received the closest version to it that Giry could deliver. Christine didn't glance over her shoulder again until she was called by Madame Giry again.

"Christine, come here, please." She led the seventeen year old to the group that stood center stage, discussing their options in hushed voices, "Christine Daaé can sing, Monsieurs. I give you my word."

Lefèvre looked curiously at Christine, and he raised an eyebrow, his expression unamused, "Really, Madame Giry? She's just a choir girl – a dancer. I am not impressed with your choice. Carlotta is our _leading lady_, and so help me God, we cannot let a child come in and play this part. I believe we may need to cancel our show."

"Why not just give her a chance? If Madame Giry is giving her such high marks, I'm sure she must be good." de Changy spoke with confidence, his eyes trained on the blushing girl in front of him, "And if she's not, then you have nothing to lose in which you have not already lost!"

Everyone turned to stare at the viscount who had spoken so boldly. Lefèvre hesitated for a moment before shaking his head and gesturing for Christine to stop forward, "Come on, girl, we don't have all day. Do you know all of Jennifer's songs?"

Christine nodded, gulping, feeling unbearably self-conscious. She glanced at Madame Giry, who nodded and gestured her to step forward. Lefèrve nodded slowly and let out a long breath, "Alright, Christine, let's give this a go. Jennifer's aria then, please." Reyer tapped his baton on the stand in front of him and nodded at the orchestra and, suddenly, Christine was there, in the moment. She blocked everything else, pretending she was only singing in front of her Angel. Her Angel, who had been so angry, but she was going to make him happy now! She was going to sing and make him proud; soothe his anger and prove that she was a good singer.

Her voice didn't falter and the notes didn't squeak as she sang, hesitantly at first, but she felt this strange prodding from her mind, reminding her of tips that her Angel had given her – "Head up, shoulders back, deep breaths. Sing from your diaphragm. Chin _up,_ Christine." – and she knew in that moment that she could do it. She took another hesitant step forward, singing with all that she could. She felt as her Angel had always described – strong, fearless, and beautiful. At this point, she might as well have been able to float away.

"_And though you may not believe... Not all love is lost..._"

With that, Christine fell silent, and peered nervously over her shoulder. Everyone was staring at her wide-eyed, their jaws to the floor. She met Raoul's eyes and he burst into applause.

"Bravo, Christine! Bravo!"

"Oh, Christine, you are wonderful!"

"Who knew you could sing like that, Orphan?"

"Bravissima!"

"Encore!"

The applause and compliments were overwhelming, and she flushed a bright scarlet, staring at her feet in embarrassment. Giry placed an arm across her shoulder, "Did I not tell you? All Daaés are phenomenal performers. Did you know that her father was the famous Swedish violinist?"

The de Chagnys froze and turned to stare at her again, and Raoul had a knowing smile on his face, "Wait – Christine Daaé? Oh!" Raoul's mother gasped and threw her arms around Christine's skinny neck, making her stumble backwards, "Oh, what a beautiful lady you've become! I didn't even recognize you!" She grasped her cheeks in her hands, surveying the young woman with amazement, "You still have those big brown eyes, though. You are so beautiful, did you know that? No wonder Raoul liked you so much!"

Christine saw Raoul flush from where he stood, and she laughed nervously, trying to extract herself from the woman's death grip, "Thank you, Mademoiselle." She curtsied and smiled widely again.

* * *

><p>As soon as Christine was able to escape the stage, she nearly ran to her dormitory room, flinging open the door in search of her best friend.<p>

"Meg! Meg Giry, listen to me right this instant!" She climbed onto the single bed, jumping up and down, completely oblivious to her friend's head-splitting headache and terrible mood. And her nausea, that was threatening to spill over.

"_What_? You bafoon, get off my bed!" She cried, still buried under her covers.

"Oh, Meg, it was amazing! Carlotta quit the show, and _I _got the part of Jennifer! Me! I did it, Meg! I sang, and they all loved me, and now _I'm _Jennifer!"

After a moment of silence from Meg, it was apparent she'd fallen right back asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ugh, i had sooo much fun writing this chapter! at this rate, there should be at _least _one more chapter up this week! thank you guys so much for all the support! i love you guys. (:**


	5. Chapter 5

Raoul paced outside of the girl's dormitories, trying to figure out how to lure Christine Daaé out of her room. He had to talk to her – he had to know all that he had missed. She was more beautiful than she had ever been; she was still short, but she had long legs and the most beautiful face. And, of course, Little Lotte still had those ridiculously large brown eyes of hers. She was perfect. She was beautiful. The real question that Raoul pondered, though, was whether or not she was still _his_. All those years they'd spent together as children, making idle promises of love and friendship that would last forever. She'd been whisked from his hands then, but never again would he allow that to happen. All those years had gone by, and the only girl he'd ever been able to feel for was Christine Daaé.

"Raoul? What are you doing out here?"

He gasped, jumping, and whirled around to face the very girl he'd been thinking about. She was dressed in a simple blue gown that accentuated her subtle curves. His bright blue eyes roamed her body for a moment but quickly snapped back to her face, trying to be a gentleman, "I was waiting for you, actually. I wanted to speak to you privately."

Blushing, Christine shut the door behind her and reached for his hand, pulling him towards one of the empty hallways. She turned to him, smiling a small, timid smile. He was still beautiful – his eyes were so bright, and his face had sculpted beautifully over the years. Christine's eyes searched his face for some sort of sign as to whether or not he was still the same Raoul she had known all those years ago. He was still so perfect and so, so beautiful.

"Little Lotte," Raoul smiled and reached out, gently stroking a long piece of her hair, "Oh, how I've missed you."

At the same time, the two of them lurched forward and grabbed each other into a tight hug. Raoul pulled back, holding her face gently in his hands, "You're beautiful, Little Lotte. Very, very beautiful. How have you been? Oh! You sang wonderfully tonight. I always knew you were destined to be a star."

She pulled her face away, embarrassed, "You always loved giving me unnecessary compliments. I've missed you so much, too," Christine looked up from beneath her lashes, "It's been a journey, but one I'd gladly take again."

"Strong, too." Raoul commented, his hands dropping back to his sides.

"Strong? Barely. I just do the best with what I'm given." She replied, tilting her head to the side, "How have you been, Viscount? It appears that you're going to become _very _notorious at the opera house. Our new patron, yes?"

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Ah, of course – the de Chagnys just have money to throw around, so why not throw it into the arts, as well? But please, Mademoiselle Daaé, refrain from calling me 'viscount' – it's bad enough hearing my father constantly correct people."

He'd gained a confident attitude, it seemed – he was more arrogant than he had been, as if he'd allowed the money and position he held get to his head. Christine surveyed him with slightly narrowed eyes, a smile still playing on her lips, "Not all of us are lucky enough to have such money!" She smiled, and grasped one of his hands in hers, "However, as our new patron, there are some things I expect. I believe we could use financial help in the costume department – Carlotta enjoys being picky about her costumes, so she goes through hundreds for a single show." A small 'tsk' left her lips, and she shook her head.

"That Carlotta is a goon."

Christine burst into laughter, "What in the world is a _goon_?"

Raoul grinned widely, "It's an American word – the new housemaid that lives with us uses it a lot. She's from... New York? Some oddly named city in America."

She stifled her laughter and squeezed his hand, "Oh, Raoul, I've missed you so much."

Raoul leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Little Lotte's forehead, his free hand resting on her cheek. Oh, how he would love to whisk Christine away from this place. He wanted to steal her away, leave the Opera Populaire and live together, somewhere warm and beautiful. Raoul felot Christine go rigid, and he stepped away, still holding her hand, "What is it, Little Lotte?"

Her face was white, bleached from terror, and her eyes the size of saucers, "Oh, I must go. I can't... I can't – I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry. I need to leave." Raoul watched, confused, as she pulled away, stumbling backward. He grabbed her upper arm, both to steady her and keep her where she was.

"What? Why are you -"

"Raoul, you're hurting me!" She cried, wrenching her arm from his tight grip. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, but she was still desperate to get away, "Please, I must go. I'll talk to you tomorrow if you are around, perhaps."

"Christine –"

"No, Raoul. I _must _go."

He was there. Christine could hear the frustration and anger in his voice, and it filled her up and terrified her.

_Christine! Christine!_

Had she even told her Angel about her great triumph? She had forgotten all about him. Christine refrained from glancing over her shoulder to look back at Raoul, forcing herself to stay focused on getting to the chapel. How could she forget her Angel, after all he'd done for her? She stood at the entrance of the chapel, her heart pounding to the point where it could probably be heard throughout the whole room. Her Angel could surely hear it. The door clicked shut behind her, and she circled slowly, head ducked down, and eyes brimming with tears.

"I – I'm sorry –"

"_Silence_."

He had never spoken to her in such a tone! Christine, now thoroughly petrified, fell silent, pressing her lips tightly together. How could she have been so foolish? There were rules that her Angel had made when they first began their lessons, when he had first come to her. She was not allowed to leave her room at night, and she was not allowed to be meeting up with young, foolish boys. Christine flushed again, trying to hold in the tears that were leaking from the corner of her eyes. All she wanted was to please her Angel, and she'd failed him. Frustrated with herself, she stood silently as he instructed.

"There were conditions we set up, child."

"I know –"

"_Silence_!" Christine quickly fell quiet, "How could you disobey me, after all that I have done for you? Are you not content with me? Must you have that insolent boy, too? I thought that gaining the role as Jennifer would excite you, but it appears I was wrong."

"Oh, Angel, but it is all that I've wanted! I am excited!"

"Then _why_, child, do you still not obey me? I have given you what you have wanted." Never before had his voice been so stern, so harsh, so cruel. Christine stood awkwardly, wiping away helplessly at the tears that were now dripping from her nose.

"I'm sorry, Angel. Please do not be angry. It will never happen again. Please, Angel."

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice now soft and gentle, "Oh Christine, I am sorry for being so harsh, I just need you to understand."

She sniffled, wiping her nose with one hand, "I'm sorry, Angel. I understand, I do."

"Good. Now go to bed, child. Tomorrow is a busy day. You are, after all, Jennifer."

Still trembling from the intensity in his voice, Christine fled back to her room, tears running down her cheeks. She told herself that she hated him – he was a mean, horrible Angel! Raoul, at least, was sweet and kind and tender towards her. Her Angel was just malicious and cruel. But, of course, Christine could never honestly feel that way towards him. He was beautiful, and he'd gotten her to the role as Jennifer. How could she turn away from him like that? He wasn't always horrible, really, only when he didn't get what he wanted.

Christine couldn't sleep that night.

* * *

><p>Fury dripped from his very pores as he walked through his lair, his eyes wild and his breaths ragged. How dare that child – that insolent <em>boy <em>come and act as if Christine was his! He was nothing! A child that was being momentarily lulled by Christine's beauty; he knew he would run away as soon as he became bored of the beautiful girl. He was a child, and damn him if he thought he would be able to whisk Christine away. He had done it years ago, when they were still children, but it had been he who saved her from the rapids! It had been he who saved her life, and he would save her from Raoul's charming grip once more. The man was being driven insane with this work. His opera was coming along slowly, and he had to resist the urge to kill Carlotta and Raoul. Christine was becoming too independent; did she not understand that there was no success out of his presence? Did she think that she continue on without him?

No!

No one was going to steal his precious Christine.

No one.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: omg i am so0o0oo0o sorry this took me so long. i was ridiculously busy, and i had no time to just sit down and write. please forgive me! anywho, sorry this chapter is kind of short; i just really wanted to get it finished, so it didn't turn out exactly... perfect.**

**but yay for getting a real feel for erik!**


End file.
